


Let Your Hand Kiss My Cheek

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Boys Doing Bad Things, Bisexual!Lascelles, Bottom!Lascelles, Choking, Dirty Talk, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Hate Sex, Humiliation, It's Childercelles Come On Now, Lots of Kinky Things, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Top!Childermass, Trash Ship, dub con?, kinky!Lascelles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: What he chiefly desired at this point was to be treated very roughly indeed. He had set up his circumstances with the ladies so that he was the one doing the seducing and the domination. He now longed to be the recipient, and a recipient of more than the halfhearted slaps and faux angry pouting of his current playmates.
Relationships: John Childermass/Henry Lascelles
Comments: 11
Kudos: 17





	Let Your Hand Kiss My Cheek

**Author's Note:**

> Pure Smut. Which is really what most of us Childercelles shippers want isn't it? Anyway, hope you enjoy. I started this weeks ago and then abandoned it and just came back around today to finish it off (no pun intended).
> 
> Brief but sort of explicit descriptions of Lascelles having sex with ladies in the first fourth of the fic. 
> 
> Definitely some mentions of Lascelles/Drawlight, but they're not the focus of this fic.

Henry Lascelles was a man of impeccable taste. His home was decorated in the latest fashions, from the pale green wallpaper to the charming little, mirror topped end table that abutted the royal blue silk embroidered daybed in his study. He loved beautiful things and to be surrounded by beautiful people. This was quite possibly the only reason he spent any time at all with Christopher Drawlight. The unscrupulous little man was, despite being a social climber and a sycophant of almost unbelievable proportions, still quite lovely. He had about him the look of a small, china doll. His pale skin and dark hair and pretty little mouth made certain that Lascelles tolerated him on a daily basis. That, and the fortuitous fact that Drawlight would let Lascelles bugger him silly after a few glasses of sherry. 

Outside of his dalliances with Drawlight, Lascelles enjoyed pursuing wealthy and impressionable ladies for sport. He couldn’t indulge in this particular activity too often, for he did not want word to get around that he was a cad and a liar (he was most certainly both in equal measure). To protect his reputation, he’d found that if he used an assumed name and chose ladies who lived at quite a distance from London (or who abhorred the noise and filth of the city and did not frequent high society events with any regularity) that he could pursue this hobby from a place of relative safety. Also, married women who wished to get revenge on their husbands for any number of marital transgressions could be counted on to keep quiet. Mrs. Bullworth had _not_ kept quiet, and that had been a warning to Lascelles to be even more discreet when choosing ladies with whom he could play his little games. 

He would begin, after assessing their level of wealth, influence and relative isolation from London society by visiting under the guise of being a concerned friend. He’d invent some reason for his interest in them. A tip about an estate sale, a rumor about an investment in which they might be interested, because, well of course, _everyone knew_ that _they_ were just the right person to come to about such matters. He used their vanity to gain entry to their small, country social circles and their homes. He got them to loan him money, or, if he were very clever, to give it to him outright. Then, employing his handsome smiles and gentle touches, tactics that worked very well when applied just so, he’d gain their trust and eventually, their ardor. 

And _then_ , once these women trusted him and desired him, Lascelles would make sure to fuck them in the most degrading way possible. Pushed up against a wall in the stable, where anyone who happened to walk by might see them, bent over the back of a sofa, or, and this was a particular favorite, in their own marital bed. He made sure never to finish inside of them, for fear of unwanted bastards, and because he preferred instead to shoot his seed on their pale buttocks, or bellies or (even better) on the expensive skirts of their velvet evening dresses. 

There was nothing quite so erotic and stimulating as watching his spend streak across a pair of heaving bussoms or a plump, white backside in another man’s bed, knowing that man would be consumed with rage when he discovered the stains or found out about his wife’s infidelity. The thought of the lady’s frantic orders to her maidservants to wash the linen, or to clean up her bespoiled skirts was just as delicious to him as the taste of their kisses or the pleasures to be found between their thighs. 

Lascelles entertained many fantasies of the husband returning home early and, after a few shocked moments and some words yelled in anger, perhaps after laying hands on Mr. Lascelles to rough him up a bit, calming himself and then requesting to join them. Or, and this was an even better thought, _not_ calming himself at all and taking Lascelles by force, while the wife looked on and touched herself. This never happened of course, but it still gave Lascelles quite a lot of satisfaction to imagine such a thing as he debauched these wealthy women. 

He’d eventually grown so consumed with this fantasy, of being caught and then joined (and roughed up) by angry husbands that he’d even enlisted Drawlight and a succession of molly boys to act out the scenario on several occasions. Sometimes the molly boy played the husband and Drawlight played the wife, sometimes the reverse happened. Drawlight loved his role as the wife, because it meant that he was allowed to put on a day dress that Lascelles may or may not have stolen from one such woman for the purposes of enhancing his games and that he could adorn himself with the jewels that Mr. Lascelles had been given by his lonely conquests over the years. It was always entertaining, no matter the configuration of roles. And Lascelles always ended up with his prick somewhere warm and tight while someone yelled insults at him and hit him about the face and back and buttocks. 

As stated previously, this wife poaching scheme was not a thing he could indulge in often. Perhaps twice in a year, for there were only so many lonely and vindictive wealthy women for him to debauch and fleece of funds. And this left many many long and dull months in between for him to find ways to amuse himself and to slake his semi-constant lust and his perverted fantasies. 

As the years went by, he grew bored with all the usual distractions. The molly boys, once delightful in their little frocks, and Drawlight, with his simpering submission, had at first been highly exciting. Now though, the thrill had waned considerably. Drawlight had begun to chafe his nerves, and the molly boys were getting expensive. And besides that, neither party, Drawlight, nor the molly boys, were ever able to be rough enough to truly suit Mr. Lascelles’ needs. 

What he chiefly desired at this point was to be treated very roughly indeed. He had set up his circumstances with the ladies so that he was the one doing the seducing and the domination. He now longed to be the recipient, and a recipient of more than the halfhearted slaps and faux angry pouting of his current playmates. 

It was then, when he was at his most bored and understimulated that he’d begun working with Mr. Norrell and had first laid eyes upon Norrell’s dark, raggedy looking man of business, John Childermass. The cold glint in the man’s eyes and his gruff demeanor had enticed Lascelles at first, until upon closer association with the man, he’d learned that (unfortunately) he absolutely loathed Childermass. This should not have put a damper on his plans to find a way into his bed, for Lascelles was not above seducing someone he resented or disliked, but Childermass treated him with such dismissive contempt that it was beneath Lascelles to try at this point. He preferred his lovers to be consumed with ardent feelings for him, (regardless of how he felt about _them_ ), and all that he was able to discern of Childermass was that he saw Lascelles as a nuisance. 

That this unkempt, sullen, classless individual should have the absolute gall to avoid treating Lascelles with the respect he deserved rankled. Childermass was the lowest sort of servant. Not because he shirked his duties. He was not lazy, so much as he was insolent. He had the insufferable habit of pretending to be above his station, by doing incredibly rude things like interrupting conversations between Lascelles and Mr. Norrell and offering his opinion, unasked for. He would lurk in doorways, lean against bookshelves and look directly and unflinchingly at Lascelles with his dark eyes in a way that was highly inappropriate for a man of his low birth. His rightful place was in the kitchen or the back hallways with the other servants, or, failing that, in the execution of his errands for Norrell. And yet, he still hung about in Norrell’s study as if he were a colleague, rather than a servant. It irked Lascelles to no end. 

Lascelles had tried putting Childermass in his place. He’d told him his assistance was not needed. He’d tried assigning him useless tasks to get him to leave, and he’d ignored Childermass as if he didn’t exist. None of this had the least effect. Any attempt to order Childermass about was met with an indolent look and a smirk of the man’s twisted mouth. Any attempt to send him some errand or another to get rid of him received the same treatment. If Norrell insisted that Childermass did what Lascelles asked, Childermass would saunter his way out the door and do it, but he never responded directly to Lascelles’ instructions.

It was maddening. Lascelles was used to being obeyed by those beneath him. He was used to people being intimidated by him for the influence he wielded, and if not for that, then for his commanding nature and self confidence. It was amazing what a good velvet jacket and a sneer could accomplish when speaking to people of a lower class or with a lower sort of intelligence. And yet, Norrell’s man refused to be intimidated and refused to bend to Lascelles’ will in the slightest way. 

At first, he’d assumed that Childermass was as dull as a wooden soup ladle. The man rarely spoke, and when he did, it was in a voice that was as rough and ragged as his appearance, and he was a man of few words. Surely he was an imbecile. No one of any sort of remarkable intelligence would dress so...behave so...But as the weeks went by, Lascelles learned that Norrell’s man of business was anything but stupid. He was in fact very clever, and quite learned to boot. This, upon a closer reflection made perfect sense. One could not work closely with Norrell in his study and not learn a great deal about magic and history (and magical history). The man went on and on incessantly on the subject. All Childermass needed to do was open his ears, and a free magical education was his for the taking. Also, and this made Lascelles virtually vibrate with rage, Norrell seemed to allow Childermass unfettered access to his library. Often, Lascelles had walked in to find this horrid person with his grubby hands all over one of Norrell’s books, reading away as if he owned not only the book but also the study itself! It was a wonder that all the books were not covered with smudges and marks from the wretch’s filthy fingers!

Lascelles had a very clear understanding of how society functioned and of who was above whom on that time honored ladder of privileges and power. He, Henry Lascelles, was a high born gentleman of good breeding. He had money, influence, handsome looks and excellent taste. John Childermass had none of these things, and yet, he still carried himself with the indolent surety of a well fed sergeant, home from the war with a chest full of medals. Or a wealthy landowner whose investments had paid out well. He did _not at all_ appear to be what he so plainly was. A raggedy servant in an ancient waistcoat and a tattered hat who could not seem to learn his place. 

And so Lascelles quite quickly learned to hate John Childermass, hate him with a passion that burned hot enough to occupy much of his thoughts when the loathsome man was nearby. How _dare_ this filthy wretch take up so much of Norell’s attention? How dare _he_ be the one who whispered into Norrell’s ear, when that place so clearly belonged to Lascelles? 

After several months of being forced to look at Childermass’ smug face and being made to listen to his frustratingly insightful opinions on magic and government, Lascelles could not bear it any longer. He needed to _ruin_ John Childermass. Hopefully in the most humiliating way possible. And well, because Henry Lascelles was a man of perverse tastes, it would be even better if an element of sexual gratification could be included in his plans. He would be lying to himself quite blatantly if he didn’t admit that the man had a rough sort of appeal in that area. Despite his unfashionable clothing and ragged hair and gruff manner, he was not unpleasant to look at, and those filthy, calloused hands and twisted mouth might be put to good use, if Lascelles could only find a way to employ them. 

His chance came soon enough. He arrived at Norrell’s house in Hanover Square one crisp autumn morning to discover that Norrell had made a rare trip back to Hurtfew Abbey to collect some books. He’d taken two of the servants with him to attend to his needs and had left Childermass behind (for once) to see to the running of the household in his absence. Of course Norrell had not informed Mr. Lascelles of his plans. He’d found out from Norrell’s maid Hannah when he’d arrived and asked where in the house Mr. Norrell could be found. Norrell was absent minded and self absorbed in the extreme, and yet he _had_ told Childermass of his plans. This fact, yet another reminder that Childermass held Norrell’s esteem and attention more firmly in his grasp than Lascelles did, only added fuel to the fire of Lascelles’ determination to make the man pay. 

Mr. Lascelles made his way to the library and found Childermass in his usual place at his desk (the man was given his own desk!) reading a book. Childermass looked up briefly when Lascelles entered, his dark eyes flicking from the pages of his book for a moment before swiftly returning without so much as a ‘good morning’. Lascelles gritted his teeth. 

“Typical,” he said with as much condescension as he could manage. “Your master is away and here you are, reading his books and not lifting a finger to help with the ordering of his household.” 

Childermass infuriatingly did not even look up again from his book. He raised one eyebrow and slowly turned the page with his dirty fingers. “Norrell does not pay me to supervise the servants sir,” he replied, as if he were speaking to an equal, instead of someone infinitely better than he. “Rather I am to guard his books and keep an eye to his correspondences.”

Lascelles felt his face go hot and he clenched his fists at his sides. So, Norrell did not trust Lascelles to be alone inside his house? He needed to put this filthy guard dog in place to make certain Lascelles did not cause mischief? The fact that this was probably very prudent of Norrell (for Lascelles would not think twice about perusing Norrell’s mail or peeking at his secret papers were Childermass not there) didn’t make it any less insulting. 

“Well, you may leave now, for I am here and I shall watch his library until his return. And besides, I have much work to do, and your smell of cheap pipe tobacco and old sweat will distract me.” 

“My instructions were to stay in this study until such a time as Mr. Norrell returns,” Childermass replied blandly. “Mr. Norrell did not tell me to watch his books and papers until _you_ arrived sir. He simply told me to stay here until he came back from Hurtfew. So sir, you must put up with my...smell...for the time being.” Was that a smirk Lascelles could see, teasing at the corners of Childermass’ mouth. The man had not even looked back up from his book when he’d replied.

“Nonsense! I insist that you leave at once!” This confrontation was not going the way Lascelles had originally planned, and this fact only added to his rage and humiliation. 

“And I must decline your request sir,” this time, Childermass did look up. His eyes were dark and unreadable behind his ragged tangle of lank hair. His mouth was set in a grim line. He put the book down now (Lascelles was distantly pleased to observe), carefully marking his place with an old piece of faded silk ribbon. “I am to stay here until Norrell returns, which mightn’t be for several hours yet, but you are of course welcome to stay as well and read or work to your heart’s content. I however, will not be leaving.”

“How dare you speak to me in this manner!” Lascelles was livid now. He took a few hurried steps toward where Childermass sat, halting abruptly when the other man rose and stepped slowly out from behind his desk. Now they stood, a few feet apart, regarding each other intently. Lascelles' breath was coming fast from the rage boiling in his blood, and this rage was made all the hotter and more intense by the fact that Childermass seemed not at all aroused to any emotion. He stood calmly, looking at Lascelles with those clever, dark eyes and that twisted smile curling up one side of his face. 

“I am not speaking to you in any particular manner sir. I am simply relaying my orders from the master of this house. And since you are decidedly _not_ a master of this house, I am requesting that you remain as long as you like, or leave if that is more to your taste. But I will be staying here regardless.”

“If you were my servant, I’d have you whipped,” Lascelles stepped closer and was irritated that Childermass did not seem in the least intimidated by his increased proximity. The man simply stood and regarded him calmly, as if he were superior to Lascelles. 

“And if you were my master, I’d likely kill you in your sleep,” Childermass replied as casually as if he were remarking on the weather. 

Lascelles could barely believe his now-burning ears. How _dare_ this horrid man speak to him so? strode up to Childermass until their chests were flush against each other and their faces were close enough for him to see each individual hair on the man’s filthy, unshaved chin. He was trembling with rage and every nerve in his body was on fire with the urge to do some sort of violence to Childermass. To wipe that smug look off his face in the most humiliating way possible. He wished, (not for the first time since entering the library), that he had brought a knife with him, if only to threaten the other man with, if nothing else. “You are an insolent cur, and you will show me some respect, or you shall pay dearly for your impudence.” He spat the words into Childermass’ face, watching as the man’s lashes fluttered ever so slightly as the gusts of Lascelles’ breath broke against his eyes and cheeks.

“I would not make such threats if I were you,” Childermass replied, his voice very soft and low, and was that a glint of anger Lascelles could see in the man’s eyes? Lascelles felt a spasm of triumph at the thought that he might have angered Childermass, even in the slightest way. He wanted to nurse that spark and feed it until it became a bonfire of rage. He’d never yet seen Childermass express any strong emotion whatsoever. The man was infuriatingly unmovable. Always slinking about the place with a smirk on his face. He did not yell, nor did he even scowl with disapproval. His face was a mask of studied indifference at the best of times. Lascelles was suddenly gripped with an urge to watch that expression change, to transform into something real and raw.

Swiftly and without warning, he pulled back a hand and slapped Childermass across the face. It was not a particularly hard slap. It was not meant to wound, only to shock and humiliate and enrage. 

Childermass’ reaction was immediate. He grabbed Lascelles by the throat and turning them both with surprising strength and speed, in what felt like the blink of an eye, he had Lascelles pinned against the edge of his desk. Childermass pressed himself against Lascelles, bending him, making his spine like a bow against the hard wooden edge of the desk and pushing his face close to Lascelles’ face. The pressure of his hand on Lascelles’ throat, much like the slap Lascelles had just delivered to his cheek, was not meant to harm him. It rested firmly, palm pressed across his jugular and thumb and fingers gripping gently, almost lovingly underneath Lascelles’ jaw on either side. There was a promise of further violence, but it remained a promise for the time being. 

All this Lascelles could discern in the handful of seconds it had taken Childermass to press their bodies together and bend Lascelles backward over the desk. He felt many things in that moment, as he breathed raggedly through his nose and glared up into a pair of fierce eyes that hovered above his face. “Release me at once or I shall have you arrested and hanged,” he growled, feeling the pressure of the hand on his throat remain unwavering. His heart beat wildly against Childermass’ thick, calloused palm. 

“You shall not sir,” Childermass replied, “you shall apologize for your treatment of me and take your leave, or I shall be forced to teach you how to behave appropriately.” 

It was then that Henry Lascelles realized that his cock was swelling inside his breeches. In fact, what he had thought of as simple rage had been a confusing mix of emotions, the forefront of which, a hot swell of lust, had rushed to the surface with the touch of Childermass’ rough hands on his neck and the press of the man’s pelvis, belly and chest against his own. His anger did not recede. Instead, it inexplicably added to his arousal. No one had ever dared handle him this way, and the feel of Childermass’ grip on his throat, and the man’s dense, wiry body pressing against him so tightly had him stiff and throbbing. It was a situation that dovetailed quite nicely with his recurring fantasies of being manhandled by angry husbands, but also, Childermass’ actions were _not_ due to coming home and finding that his wife had just been fucked by Henry Lascelles. His actions, those of so roughly grabbing Lascelles and bending him over a desk in Norrell’s library, were the height of disrespect, and they caused Lascelles’ anger to flare in between spikes of pure sexual heat in a very confusing manner. 

Childermass unfortunately could feel Lascelles’ tumescent cock as well. He looked down into Lascelles’ face and his eyebrows lifted in mild disbelief. “It seems that you are not so insulted after all,” he murmured, and then he pressed his hips a bit closer against Lascelles and tightened his hand on Lascelles’ neck. 

Lascelles let out a moan and unbidden his eyes rolled back in his head. It seemed his ire was not strong enough to outlive the lust of his loins. _How curious_ , he thought distantly. Yet he should not have been surprised. He’d been yearning to be dominated, and here he was, pinned down by someone stronger than himself, and his cock was full to bursting at the exquisit feel of it. 

“This is quite interesting,” remarked Childermass, and the edges of his voice betrayed just the faintest hint of emotion. A subtle ragged edge had leaked into his usual, casual tone of studied indifference. 

It was then that Lascelles felt an answering stiffness between the tight press of their bodies. _He enjoys it too_ , he thought, and squirmed a little in Childermass’ grip. The hand around his throat tightened somewhat again and this caused a bolt of frantic heat to lance through Lascelles body. He gasped, sucking air in through his clenched teeth and glared up at Childermass, smiling just a little at how the other man’s body had betrayed his inner thoughts. “And apparently, forcing yourself on your superiors is quite appealing to you too sir,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. He gave an experimental thrust with his hips against Childermass’ body and was excited to see the man’s eyes flutter part way closed at the increase in friction. 

“I’ll happily let you go. All you need do is ask,” Childermass growled, lightening the press of his hand and making as if to pull away. Before he could relieve that delicious pressure against Lascelles cock, Lascelles grabbed him by the sides of his face and pulled their mouths together. It was a gamble he was taking. A man’s cock-stand was not always a sign that he wanted a fuck. Sometimes it happened from friction and heat alone, in the most inopportune of moments and for the most indecipherable of reasons. Childermass though, instead of recoiling, kissed him back with a low moan. He gripped Lascelles by the back of the head and ate hungrily at his mouth. As he did so, he rutted eagerly against Lascelles’ body with stiff movements of his hips. 

Lascelles pressed back, opened his mouth and invited Childermass inside, biting at the man’s lips and sucking at his tongue as if it were a prick. This made Childermass groan deep in his throat. Lascelles felt a pair of rough hands grip him firmly by the buttocks and lift him up onto the top of the desk as if he weighed little more than a sack of laundry. Papers and quill pens rained messily to the floor as he was slid fully onto the desk and as the other man followed him up and settled between his legs. For a few thrilling moments, they could do little more than rock against each other, breathless and desperate, still fully clothed. But soon, Childermass seemed impatient with this state of affairs and climbed off of Lascelles to once again stand on the floor. As he did this, he pulled Lascelles roughly by the hips until his bottom rested at the edge of the desk. “I mean to fuck you, and hard,” the man said plainly. “If this is not agreeable to you, you are free to go.”

As he said this, he quite swiftly began to work at undoing Lascelles breeches. He did a horrible job of it, and after a few fumbled attempts, Lascelles swatted his hands away and did it himself. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll have your head in a noose,” he snarled. It was a threat that held far less weight being that it was made while Lascelles was roughly shoving his own breeches down over his hips, but he felt some concession must be made to his honor as a gentleman. Even a gentleman who was clearly about to be buggered on top of a writing desk in a magician’s study, by a magician’s surly, useless servant. 

Childermass pulled Lascelles breeches off and away, letting them fall to the floor without a care. This angered Lascelles. “Those breeches cost more than every stitch of miserable rags you’ve ever owned. Have a care, you clumsy ox.” 

Childermass, who was swiftly undoing his own trousers only smirked. “It appears your mouth needs something to occupy it,” he said, and then, he crawled back onto the desk and up Lascelles body until he knelt with a knee to the each side of Lascelles face. His cock and testicals swung heavily, just inches from Lascelles’ nose and lips. “Be a good lad and do your job well, for the wetter you make my prick, the easier it shall be for you when I put it up you.” And with that, Childermass took his cock in hand and fed it to Lascelles, who could not help but open his mouth and accept it eagerly. Once Lascelles had taken as much of Childermass’ thick, hot member as he could, Childermass began to fuck into his mouth with not-so-gentle pulses of his hips. The sensation had Lascelles’ own prick twitching where it throbbed untouched above his belly. His arms were free, and so, with a little straining, he could wrap a hand around it and give himself some attention as Childermass continued to fuck his cock between Lascelles’ lips. 

A few times, the head of Childermass’ cock went deep enough to gag Lascelles, which made Childermass chuckle. “Your mouth gets wetter and hotter the deeper I go. Tis a shame you still need to breathe,” he said as tears formed in Lascelles eyes and rolled down his reddened face from the convulsions of his gagging. 

Lascelles responded to this with a hint of teeth, and Childermass rewarded _this_ with a slap to Lascelles face. “Be good Mr. Lascelles,” he hissed. “Be good or I shall finish here and won’t be able to fuck you as I plan to.” 

Lascelles glared at him, a look that possibly carried a lot less impact than usual, being that it was done over a mouth stretched around the other man’s hard prick, but he withdrew his teeth and allowed Childermass to continue. 

To own the truth, he was very happy with this state of affairs. This feeling of being pinned down and used roughly, of Childermass fucking his mouth as if it were a wet quim or a tight arsehole. The feeling of being degraded thusly had his body aflame with want. He thrust his hips up into his hand on his own cock and moaned around the thick heat that pumped back and forth past his bruised lips. 

Soon, Childermass stilled his movements with a sharp intake of breath. He was clearly close to finishing, and did not want to do so against Lascelles’ tongue. He withdrew from Lascelles mouth with an obscene pop and clammered off the desk again. Once he had regained his feet, he stuck two fingers in his mouth to wet them. He then slung Lascelles’ knees over his shoulders before unceremoniously plunging his fingers home without a care for gentleness or finesse. Lascelles arched up, groaning at the feel of Childermass’ rough fingers, which were now pumping in and out of him slowly and deliberately. 

My, but he did love to be entered thusly. He sometimes allowed Drawlight to do this to him, to fuck him with slicked fingers and then (if he were extra obedient) with his cock. It was a rare treat he allowed the smaller man, usually while slapping him about the face and mocking him. Drawlight did so love to be mocked. It made him finish all the more quickly to be told how naughty and dirty he was. 

Childermass increased his pace until he was slamming his fingers home over and over, a look of intense concentration on his face as he looked down at what his hand was doing. “How nice and loose I’ve gotten you sir,” he sneered, twisting his fingers just so, and Lascelles cried out roughly at the feel of it. “I think you are good and ready now for what I plan to give you. What say you?” he asked. 

“Fuck me,” Lascelles demanded with a voice gone raw and horse. “Stop boring me with your idle chatter and _fuck me_.”

Childermass grinned as he bent to open a drawer in his desk and withdrew a small stoppered glass vial of oil. He uncorked it and poured a liberal amount into his hand and used it to slick himself. Then, after putting the vial down upon the desk, he lined himself up and sank in to the hilt. Lascelles cried out at being filled so completely and so suddenly, and heard Childermass make a soft, grunting noise as he settled himself, breathing deeply and gripping Lascelles by the hips. Lascelles squirmed experimentally and Childermass gasped at the feel of it. “Hold still!” he gritted out, clearly struggling for control, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Lascelles’ hips. “Hold still or this will be over very quickly.”

Lascelles was pleased to know that Childermass was so excited by their little game that he seemed on the verge of spilling his seed. He toyed with the idea of squirming quite a bit more, and forcing such a thing to occur as a sort of rebellious act, just to be contrary, but then, he wouldn’t get the rough fucking he so ardently craved. And, because he wished to be fucked so very badly, he stilled his motions and frowned, waiting impatiently for Childermass to regain control. 

This was done after a few moments, and then Childermass began a slow, steady volley of thrusts, snapping his hips at the end of each, so that his cock head jabbed up against that special part inside him that made Lascelles go wild with lust. Childermass soon found his rhythm, and began to fuck Lascelles very hard indeed. 

“That’s it,” Lascelles fought to keep a sneer on his face and in his voice as he urged Childermass on. “Do your job you filthy malcontent. Fuck me like I want you to. Do your very best to please me,” 

Childermass responded with a grunt and by slapping Lascelles across the face. This time with a bit less restraint than Lascelles had previously used upon him. “Shut your mouth,” he growled, without so much as breaking stride for an instant. 

“I can barely feel it,” Lascelles said, though to be honest, he could feel every inch of Childermass’ thick cock driving into him with that maddening, inexorable pace. “Your cock is like a little finger. It feels as if I am sitting upon a sewing needle.” This resulted in another slap from Childermass, harder this time, which made Lascelles’ gasp at the surprise of it, and of the burning sting it left behind on his cheek. He felt an answering explosion of lust in his groin. He wanted more. 

“Your prick is so soft and gentle, it feels like the caress of a feather,” he spat out, hoping to enrage Childermass and spur him to more acts of violence.

It seemed to have the desired effect, for Childermass leaned up and over him and grabbed him again by the throat, pressing down enough so that Lascelles could feel his pulse thundering against Childermass’ hand. “Shut your pretty little mouth sir, or I will choke the life out of you. I am certain I’ll be able to finish before you twitch your last,” Childermass said in a rough whisper, and then he increased his thrusts in both speed and intensity, until he was pounding Lascelles into the hard surface of the desk.

Lascelles could not help but let out a shout and cant his hips up into the thunderous pressure of Childermass’ thrusts. Childermass meanwhile seemed encouraged by their interplay of insults and had begun speaking, breathlessly and directly into Lascelles’ flushed face. 

“You think you’re untouchable. You think you’re so very precious. But here you are, taking my prick like a good little tart. Taking my prick and begging me for more with your petty insults. I’ll fuck that smug look right off your face.” He bent then and crashed their mouths together, and Lascelles was so very inflamed, by the rigorous fucking he was receiving, and by Childermass’ impudent words, that he had no choice but to kiss him back, messily and desperately. He moaned against Childermass’ lips, feeling the roughness of the man’s unshaven face scrape against the delicate skin of his chin and cheeks as the kiss continued. 

Childermass broke the away abruptly. “Oh fuck, Jesus, I’m going to spill inside your tight little arse,” he gasped, “You had better take care of yourself, and soon,” and with that, he rose up, grabbed Lascelles by his now bruised hips and doubled his speed, biting his lower lip in concentration, his breath coming fast as he worked himself inside Lascelles’ body. 

Lascelles was quick to take a hold of himself and begin stroking his cock swiftly, racing Childermass to his end, for he did not at all relish the idea of the other man finishing first and leaving him to either reach his pleasure under his own ministrations, or remain unfulfilled and humiliated. 

He should not have been surprised at how quickly his climax rushed to meet him. With only a few swift strokes, the friction and the sharp pangs of pleasure emanating from Childermass’ prick combined with the feel of his own, well practiced hand upon his member had him gasping and shouting as he sprayed his chest and belly with his emissions. His spasms caused Childermass to yell “Ah! Fuck!” rather loudly and lose control as well, and Lascelles could feel his passage grow hot and slick as Childermass shot his seed deep with a few last arrhythmic thrusts of his hips. 

Childermass collapsed on top of him, his face buried in the material of Lascelles shirt, his heartbeat pounding hard enough for Lascelles to feel it quite easily from where he lay, beneath the other man. They were both panting and gasping, covered in sweat and soiled with liberal amounts of sticky fluids. Childermass’ desk was in ruins. He seemed not to care though. He seemed in fact to be falling asleep on top of Lascelles. A thing that felt disturbingly good, but that could not be permitted to happen at half past twelve in the afternoon in Gilbert Norrell’s study. “Get off me,” Lascelles muttered, pressing up on Childermass’ shoulders, though not all that roughly. 

Childermass obliged, looking just as dazed and relaxed as Lascelles felt. Both men took an awkward few moments to stumble about and re-dress themselves and smooth down their clothing and hair. Lascelles did not bother cleaning himself up, for he planned to go home immediately to bathe and change. He did not speak to Childermass, nor look at him. He simply stalked from the library, affecting the attitude of a man who has been greatly wronged. He did not feel wronged at all however. He felt instead a deep sense of tingling satisfaction suffusing all of his limbs. His mouth was delightfully bruised from being roughly employed by Childermass’ kisses and his cock. His hips were sore from the tight grip of Childermass’ hands, and Childermass’ spend, slick and hot, was leaking out of him like honey from a maple tree tap as he walked stiffly to the door of Norrell’s house and back onto the street of Hanover Square. 

He did not know what the future held in store for himself and John Childermass. He did not particularly care. He was secure in the knowledge that Childermass would never tell a soul what had transpired in the library. Whether or not such a thing happened again was beyond his ability to predict, though, now that he knew what Childermass was capable of, he’d be lying if he said he wouldn't like it to happen again at some point in the future. Childermass had given him the rough handling and rough fucking he’d yearned for, and for that, he was perversely grateful. 

Also, he had a small, secret smile on his face as he walked down the street towards his home, at the thought of Childermass being left to clean up the mess on top of his desk.


End file.
